


Lifeblood

by Bellaco



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellaco/pseuds/Bellaco
Summary: A young man stood on the grass, stock still.Something was undeniably different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, but he felt it, nagging at the edge of his consciousness.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely drunk and I may or may not take this down/edit it in the morning. Maybe I'll just leave it here like the other short thing I wrote a million years ago.
> 
> I just think the Hunter deserves better, after all the shit they go through.
> 
> Will probably be fluff and action, don't know about shippings yet. It's short but I kinda like it and I have ideas for two more chapters, short too.

_‘Good hunter, you've done well. The night is near its end. Now, I will show you mercy. You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed...from this terrible hunter's dream…’_

_He smiled, rueful._

_‘I will have to pass on that, old man. I know full well I’m not the only prisoner here.’_

-

A young man stood on the grass, stock still.

Something was undeniably different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, but he felt it, nagging at the edge of his consciousness.

The Long Night had taught him to listen to his instincts, so he turned his head slightly, cautiously taking in his surroundings.

A few trees rose over the gently sloping hill, sparse enough for the soft glow of the moon to illuminate the glade. He could hear water running nearby.

The wind blew upon what little skin he had exposed, and it felt crisp and cool, invigorating. He inhaled, filling his lungs with clear air for what seemed the first time in decades.

He blinked. That was it.

Wherever in Yharnam his steps had taken him, the scent of blood had permeated everything.

The intoxicating, decadent perfume that had clung to Arianna.

The rotting, acre stench that wafted from the corpses at the old, abandoned ward Djura had protected.

The metallic, musky smell of Eileen's wounds, laying on the stairs leading up to the cathedral.

It didn't matter who or where. In that city, the smell had been ever-present. But in here...

Baffled, he raised his hand. Long, gloved fingers caught a speck of dry blood from his short leather cloak, rubbing it between the tips.

It crumbled at his touch, odorless.

The Hunter took another deep, shaky breath, disbelieving. The air was _clean_.

He remembered, then. Suddenly dizzy, he stepped forward, once. Twice. He crumpled to the ground, on his knees, shaking.

The young man clutched his head as a silent sob wracked his spine. 

He was awake.

'It's… It's over.'

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading you are a pal.
> 
> As I said I'm more than a bit intoxicated, my grasp on figurative and complex language is tenuous right now. Actually, scratch that, just language general.
> 
> Leave a comment to mercilessly mock my writing ok? Ok.
> 
> I better get some sleep.


	2. Motet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this regrettably sober.
> 
> I'm not really sure about it, but here goes nothing. I apologise beforehand for any typos.

Leah sighed, content. Last year had been a good one, all things considered. Sure, maybe her parents weren’t happy about her moving away, and money was tight, especially at the beginning. But she could count herself happy with how well her new neighbours had treated her. Pelican Town had her fair share of weirdos and goofballs, but there was no malice in them.

“Heh. Then again, I’m not one to talk, really.”

The young artist stretched, wiping the sweat off her brow, and started collecting the scattered branches -material for her works- across the clearing. It was getting late, and though the Valley was a peaceful place, sometimes wild animals and monsters roamed around at night. After picking up the last of the wood, now secured safely in her satchel, she slung her small axe on her back and started the short trek towards her cottage. While she walked, Leah started reminiscing the past night. A tired, fond smile quirked her lips upwards.

The drinking contest, dancing with Elliot, laughter and food and her head spinning… Say what you will about the great city, but country folk knew how to throw a good party. Her first Feast of the Winter Star had been one hell of a thing. She chuckled, wincing a bit at the faint headache she still nursed. She’d need a few days to recover from all that.

Then she heard it.

A rustle, followed by a low, throaty moan, almost a facsimile of laughter. Her smile froze on her lips, the red hair on her nape bristled. She clutched her axe, ready to make a run for it or, if need be, defend herself. Leah stepped forward, weapon held high. There was cloaked figure slumped among the trees, sobbing quietly, gripping their head. She stopped, worried. That didn’t sound like anyone she knew, and the heavy clothing they wore obscured their features.

Should she return to town and get some help? Ignore them and go back home? She didn’t have time to think about it. Suddenly, the stranger jerked, collapsing face-first on the ground. Unmoving.

“Ah, goddammit.” She cursed, rushing forward. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late. 

-

He was cold.

Not uncomfortably so, though. He couldn’t remember a time where his surroundings weren’t charged with at least some amount of feverish heat. Even while in the Dream, something about the way the moon had hung over him provided certain restlessness, a drive to go out there, to kill, to hunt. Now, however, the pressure wasn’t there anymore. He lay still, breathing steadily, the need to keep moving gone. He felt drowsy and unfocused, as if a swath of wool had been draped over his eyes and ears. 

A light antiseptic smell hung in the dry air of the room, and he could hear a high pitched, intermittent tone nearby, like a bell, mixed with distant voices. Why did this feel familiar?

_“-n’t know! I had never seen him before, but I couldn’t just leave him there!”_

_“I understand, Leah. Look, don’t you worry about it. Just get home, get some re-.”_

So loud. Why couldn’t they just keep quiet? And why couldn’t he quite shake the feeling of familiarity? 

_“-worry, Mayor Lewis will visit the clinic tomorrow and-”_

At that, his eyelids snapped open. _Clinic._

He shrugged off the shrill protest of his eyes at the sudden light, looking wildly around. The room was not Iosefka’s, but the resemblance was there. He sat up in a simple metal cot, his legs still covered by pristine sheets. At his left, a medical drip full of a clear liquid was pumping… Directly into his arm.

Every fiber of his body screamed, outraged. Not again. 

_Never again._

Terrified, he ripped off the needle, splattering blood and some of the transparent fluid on the blanket, breathing heavily, his pulse erratic. 

Just then, a door he hadn’t noticed started turning open. Startled, but with the practiced ease of a man who had routinely fought starving beasts and worse, he jumped out of bed, gripping the pole where the drip had been hanging in a single fluid motion. He barely registered his bare chest and feet, subconsciously acknowledging that the lack of protective gear could be a problem. 

A man stood on the doorstep. He wore a button-up white coat and a concerned expression on his affable features, framed by simple square glasses. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, starting to talk. Before he could say anything, the hunter brandished his improvised weapon in an attempt to block any approach.

“Don’t get any closer!” He snarled. His knuckles were white with the strength of his grip, and he bared his teeth in warning. “Who are you? Where am I?”

To his credit, the bespectacled man didn’t seem much fazed. Calmly, almost as if he dealt with these situations often, he stood his ground, slowly lowering his hands. “Good evening, sir. My name is Harvey, and this is my clinic.” He spoke carefully, as if talking to a startled animal. “Would you please drop that? We don’t want anyone getting hurt here, do we?”

Despite himself, the hunter felt himself heeding the soothing voice. There was something that rang honest in it, almost like genuine worry. A bit more calmly, he straightened, releasing some of the tension in his stance. Still, he didn’t let go of the pole, it’s reassuring weight firm on his hands.

“I… Yes. Yes, I just…” Harvey raised an eyebrow. “don’t like needles very much.” He finished, lamely.

“Well, I’m sure we can work something out.” He smiled.

“What do you mean?”

“The IV has probably done enough, I’d say.” While he talked, he started rummaging through his pockets, taking out a silvery thermos and a bottle of water. “You have signs of malnourishment and dehydration, but there’s only so much the serum will do. Actually, it’s nothing short of a miracle you can stand in your condition. Please sit, and take this. Slowly. We need to get something in you.” He nodded, taking a step forward and offering the two containers. His gestures and tone were casual, inoffensive.

The younger man hesitated a few seconds but then relented. Leaving the pole where it stood before picking it up and sitting on the side of the narrow bed, he gingerly accepted the thermos and opened it, sniffing its content.

The aroma of spiced chicken stock hit him, flooding his nose. His stomach growled, and he found himself hungrily chugging the broth.

The Blood had been delicious. Oh, yes, it had filled him with a sense of euphoria, it had cured his wounds and kept him going, but every drop only had made his thirst grow endlessly. This, however…

It was savory and thick and filling, and he could actually feel it in his belly, warming up his whole body. It felt _right_.

The hunter stopped for a second, catching his breath, and he let out a small burp, which caught him by surprise. How long had it been? He could vaguely hear Harvey urging him to drink slower, and he did try, but it was impossible to stop. In a few minutes, the soup was gone.

While he seriously contemplated asking for another serving, he realised the other man was asking him a question.

“Uhh, sorry, what?”

The owner of the clinic replied patiently with that deliberately unconcerned voice. “I was saying that I’ll need to get closer to perform a checkup. It appears it was just exhaustion, but it never hurts to be sure. Before all that, though, I’d like to know your name, if that’s alright with you?”  
  
His choice of words was measured, utterly unthreatening, but he was firm. The hunter found himself almost liking the man. Looking at his hands, he straightened again, getting up and bowed slightly, as hunters did.

“I’m Jacob. Jacob Blake.”

Harvey looked almost taken aback.

“Oh, really! I didn’t expect to meet you like this. So you are the new farmer then?”

A beat.

“The new _what_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUN. The blood thickens. heh.
> 
> Anyways, yes, there is an explanation. Not sure if y'all will like it, we'll see.  
> I like the idea of the Hunter being a socially awkward killing machine. After all, most of the people he met hated his guts. Don't worry, he'll get better!
> 
> This chapter is the second idea I had. The first one, which incidentally is the one I really want to do, will probably be chapter 4, maybe 5.  
> Also, I'm REALLY bad at dialogues. Like, really bad. That's why they don't actually talk a lot, though at least one of them probably should.
> 
> A side note: his name isn't my character's, because he's named after me and that'd be weird, this isn't a self-insert (Not that there's anything wrong with that).


End file.
